fourth and finaly entry for @thepassifloradiscord ‘s drabble challenge (on this blog 👀)
CW: none, just geraskier modern au goofiness
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Planning a proposal for Jaskier was impossible. Usually, Geralt loved how much time they spent together but trying to do anything without his boyfriend was getting to be a difficult trick.
“What do you mean you have plans? Without me?” Jaskier looked crestfallen and outraged, a look only he’d mastered.
“It’s just a work thing. Elephant dung and lion furballs everywhere. You’d hate it.” Just about as much as I hate lying, Geralt thought.
Jaskier looked unconvinced but conceded anyway, “The furballs are gross.”
“Love you!” Geralt slipped out to go find a damn ring before he gave it away.
“Your eyes remind me of the sky.” The words are out before Geralt can stop them, and a cheeky grin appears on Jaskier’s face.
“Geralt, darling, I know you’re trying to be sweet, but the blue eye – sky comparison is a bit old,” he says, winking at the Witcher before he continues walking through the forest they’re passing through on their way to the next town.
The ground is so soft he can barely hear the small thuds Roach’s hooves make when they hit earth, and the weather is the perfect mixture of summer warmth and a soft breeze.
Geralt takes a deep breath, tightening his grip around her reigns, before he answers: “Doesn’t make it less true.”
It comes out harsher than intended, and Geralt curses himself for never being able to articulate what he actually wants to say.
The feelings are all there, but the words just never come out the way he wants them to.
Not today. Not right now.
Jaskier loves him, which is why he’ll understand that he has to do it now, literally, still sitting on Roach, the bard with his back turned to him. Because if doesn’t do it now, he is never going to be brave enough.
“Marry me.”
Silence.
All he can hear is the distant rustling of leaves being pushed around by the wind, Roach’s steps. And Jaskier’s heartbeat, the speed of which seems to have doubled in the last few seconds.
The bard doesn’t even turn around, standing in the middle of the clearing like he’s frozen in place, turned to stone by Geralt’s words.
Fuck.
He has to do some damage control before Jaskier breaks up with him on the spot, so he gently presses his heels into Roach’s side to make her stop. Before he can even get off, he can hear a quiet voice asking: “Why?”
Geralt feels like someone just punched him in the gut, his lungs empty and thoughts racing. Of all the possible answers (“No.” “As if I’d marry a Witcher!” or even just laughter), a simple “Why?” had not been among them.
“Why?” he repeats the question, looking at Jaskier dumbfounded as he dismounts Roach and softly lands on the forest ground. Finally, the other man turns around, a broken look on his face, blue eyes shimmering in the sunlight. Are those tears?
“Yes. Why do you want to marry me?”
Now it’s Geralt’s turn to be frozen in place. He wants nothing more than to gather Jaskier in his arms and wipe his tears away, to show him why, but his legs feel like they’re made of lead, not moving a single inch no matter how hard he tries.
So, even though he hates it, he has to use words instead.
“Because your eyes remind me of the sky.”
So much for eloquency.
“You already said that, Geralt. Now really isn’t the time for jokes.” Jaskier utters, shoulders slumped forward, a defeated look on his face.
Geralt curls his hands into fist, determined to say something, even if he makes a stammering idiot out of himself.
“They’re blue. Fuck, no, that’s not what I wanted to say.” Somehow, and it’s ridiculous how much strength this takes him to do, he manages to finally break free of his rigor and steps forward, taking Jaskier’s hand into his.
“Your eyes are blue, they are so fucking blue, and they are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. They remind me of cornflowers and sapphires and the sea. And they are my anchor, because when I look into your eyes I feel seen.” He puts his other hands on Jaskier’s cheek and wipes away a tear that is making its way down his face, and the bard leans into the touch.
“Geralt, you want to marry me because my eyes are blue? If that is the only reason, please find someone better than me.” It’s supposed to come out as a joke, Geralt knows it, knows Jaskier well enough, but he can’t help but detect a hint of seriousness hidden behind it.
“I don’t want anyone else.” Geralt really wishes he had listened to Yennefer’s advice right about now, who had suggested to write down whatever it was he wanted to say during his proposal.
But this isn’t really like Geralt, and it certainly isn’t like them.
Their entire relationship was built on accidents and spontaneity and chaos, so this feels only fitting.
“Jaskier… Julek.” He makes a conscious choice to use this name, the one that he has used only a handful of times, saved for the most special moments. And Roach be damned if this isn’t one of them.
“You have been by my side for over 20 years, and this-“ he waves his hand in the gap between them, struggling to find the right word.
“This, you, are the best thing that has ever happened to me. You can be a fucking pain in the ass, but I wouldn’t have it any other way, because I love you. And don’t you dare say that I could find someone better, because there isn’t.”
He gently wraps his arms around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him to his chest. Softly, Geralt puts a hand under the bard’s chin, tilting his head upwards so that he is forced to look him in the eyes.
“It’s always been you.”
The smile that appears on Jaskier’s face shines brighter than the sun, and Geralt feels like he can finally breathe again, all the tension leaving his body.
“You can be sweet if you want to, wouldn’t you know?” he teases, eyes twinkling with tears, but this time of the happy kind.
“Hmm.” Geralt grunts, cheeks turning pink. Even after all those years, a simple compliment from Jaskier is still enough to make him blush so hard he looks like he has two tomatoes stuck to his face.
“Also, yes.”
Silence.
It takes a few moments before Geralt truly realizes what Jaskier had just so nonchalantly said yes to.
The sun rises on his face, and he closes his eyes, vision hazy from happiness, as it is his turn to shed a few tears.
As his lips finally touch Jaskier’s, he feels transported back to the very first time they kissed.
Surprisingly, it feels the same – warm and safe and exciting, an invitation to explore and dream about all the things that are yet to come.
Most importantly, it feels right. Has and always will, and as Geralt opens his eyes again, he can see the sky.
Don’t worry about the title, this is pure fluff. @anxiousbard ‘s magnificent Venom!Verse made me feel some things so I needed to write some cuteness to balance the force.
Enjoy!
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There was a knock on Jaskier’s chamber door and he rose quickly to answer it, forgetting his state of relative undress completely. When his eyes met with Geralt’s familiar slitted golden ones he smiled and leaned against the frame. The Witcher swallowed thickly and turned his gaze away, speaking softly, “You are uhm...you are indecent, my love.”
“Oh,” Jaskier glanced down. The dressing gown was pulled closed around his waist and his chemise covered most of his chest. He was wearing his smalls; only his calves, ankles and feet were showing through the bottom gap. He didn’t see any problem. “What’s wrong with this? All the naughtiest bits are covered, Geralt.”
“I can see your - I can see your collarbone, Jaskier. And your legs.”
“And?”
“It’s improper! If I am to woo you properly then you mustn’t - you mustn’t tempt me like this, little bird.”
“Geralt, my great and silly Beast, do you remember what I looked like when you found me that first night, bound to a tree? Those creepy elders hadn’t left me any shirt at all! I was standing in the autumn cold completely bare-chested and covered in berry juice! There’s nothing showing here that you haven’t already seen before,” the young noble scoffed. Geralt continued to look away.
“Still,” he grumbled. “It’s improper, little bird. Would you kindly get dressed and meet me in the library? I have something important to discuss with you.”
Jaskier looked fearful for a moment but Geralt softened his gaze and pressed a quick kiss to his forehead.
“I promise that it’s good news,” the Beast reassured his anxious consort. “The discussion shall be of a happy nature.”
“That’s very good to hear,” Jaskier sighed in relief. “I shall be down shortly, my darling.”
---
“I’d like - hmm, I’d like to give you a real courting gift, Jaskier,” the Beast stated. He knelt solemnly before his blushing fiancée and pulled a box from behind his back. It certainly wasn’t a ring; the box was long and thin, made of heavy oak that had been stained a walnut brown and polished to shining. A recurring design of leaves and vines had been carefully carved along the border and the clasp holding it closed was made of shining gold. The young peasant gasped and took a half-step back. “I wish to begin my formal suit. I wish to make you my consort by law.”
“Geralt, I’m - it’s too beautiful, I -”
“The box is not the gift,” the Beast explained. He unhooked the clasp and opened the lid slowly, revealing what lay inside. Nestled against a bed of deep red velvet was a shining silver dagger. The pommel had been shaped to look like a blooming rose. A small, shimmering ruby had been inlaid at the very center, winking up at the awestruck boy in the flickering light of the library fire. Jaskier shook his head and laughed breathlessly. Geralt spoke again, softly and carefully, enunciating each word so that he could not be misunderstood, “Jaskier, my love, I wish to court you with the intent to marry you. I wish to keep you by my side for the rest of my life, where I can hear your voice and feel your warmth. I will protect you and clothe you, feed you and bathe you in illness and in good health. I shall be your castle and you in turn shall hold my heart. You are a lighthouse, my love, and I am drawn to you through the crashing waves. Say you’ll be mine, Jaskier, and make me the happiest Witcher to ever have lived.”
The bright young human was overwhelmed. Tears poured from his eyes and his hands trembled at his sides. His lip was being bitten to pieces between his pearly teeth and his knees wobbled dangerously. Geralt stood and swept the boy into his arms, placing the box carefully on a nearby table in the process. Jaskier threw his arms around his Beast’s neck and let out a gasping, happy sob, “Oh, Geralt! I would be more than happy to accept your suit! I would love with all my heart for you to be my husband and I your consort. May I bring Kaer Morhen glory with my presence here. May I bring you happiness with my presence here.”
Geralt laughed, throwing his head back and spinning in several dizzying circles. Jaskier squealed and clung even tighter to him, giggling softly when they finally came to a standstill. “Will you take the dagger? Will you wear it at your hip so I know that you are safe? So I know that some piece of me is always there to protect you, little bird?”
Jaskier suspected that this gift, the dagger in particular, was specific to Witchers. He nodded and curtseyed formally, the way any noble lady would do when accepting a romantic suit. “I accept your gift, sweet Witcher. I shall wear it at my hip where you can protect me always.”
Geralt set his little bird back on his feet and pulled him close, looping both arms around his waist. “May I kiss you, my consort?”
Jaskier tilted his head back and beamed up at his Beast, “Kiss me breathless, my love. Kiss me until I cannot ask to be kissed again.”
This was choice number 2 for the 2k poll! These are some high stakes fam I’ve been threatening this for a minute. I really hope it doesn’t disappoint lmao.
Warnings: i mean its IUI - tattoos and stupidity are in the brand, alluding to Jaskier’s past shitty relationships, nothing harsh though, big softies and big cries
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Geralt got up early to get things set up and hidden so Jaskier wouldn’t see the tattoo machine before he went to work. He even made his boyfriend breakfast so he wouldn’t have time to mosey around their flat and happen upon it. He’d had three hours to practice before a shift at the bar, then probably two hours after that to practice and clean up before Jask got home from his last appointment of the day.
Yen had been teaching him how to tattoo on bananas.
He’d had to bake a ridiculous amount of banana bread because of the fruit choice and he regretted not getting oranges to just make juice with when he was done with them.
This was his third day practicing and he’d finally figured out how to make a solid line without skipping or wobbling too bad. The cursive words weren’t tattoo quality, but they were legible and pretty fucking neat compared to his chicken scratch in his server’s notebook.
He sat up and stretched out his neck when his alarm went off. Jaskier’s last appointment was just showing up so he had about two hours until he’d be home. He could totally get one more practice banana done.
Geralt hunched forward over the fruit again and clicked the machine on, quickly zoning out on his task. When he finished the sentence (his best yet) he set the pile of bananas on the kitchen counter before packing up the machine and hiding it under the couch.
He’d meant to get up and send a picture to Yen for approval. He’d definitely meant to hide the evidence of his plan before Jaskier got home.
But the bar had been packed for the lunch rush and he’d replaced four kegs and staged two because Abby couldn’t lift them and he was just so damn tired. He made the mistake of leaning back to rest and within seconds he was out.
-
He woke up to a banana smacking him in the face, then another in his shoulder, then yet another far too close to his dick for comfort. He lurched forward in horror when he realized what was happening.
“Oh fuck!”
“Oh fuck indeed! This is why we have so much fucking banana bread?!” Jaskier threw another banana at him from the kitchen island, smacking him in the neck.
“Shit! No! Uh… fuck,” Geralt leapt up and collected the bananas from the living room floor before turning to see his boyfriend crying, “I… fucked up.”
Jaskier’s face flitted through at least twenty different emotions in the span of five seconds but Geralt only felt terror.
It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He’d planned a little getaway and surprise and he’d do it at the top of a beautiful hike when the sun was setting. He thought he could put a banana in Jask’s bag and ask for a snack at the top. Or something like that. He wasn’t too sure about the whole hiking thing. But it sure as hell wasn’t supposed to happen while he was asleep.
“You…?” Jaskier picked up the last banana still on the kitchen counter and stared at it before looking back up at Geralt, “Do you mean this?”
Geralt nodded, still absolutely petrified.
“This isn’t just some sentence you chose to practice?”
Geralt shook his head.
Jaskier took a deep breath and wiped his face, back to staring at the banana, “Why?”
“Well you said you can’t have jewelry on your hands at work because of health regulations and rings can be a pain in the ass at the bar so…” Geralt slowly rounded the couch and stood just a couple feet in front of Jaskier, “I don't know, I just thought we could tattoo them on?”
The look on Jaskier’s face was completely unreadable, and Geralt had recently said he was fluent in his boyfriend’s expressions, “No, why do you want to marry me?”
Geralt frowned before he gently took the banana out of his hands and sunk down to one knee, “Because you are everything I could ever want and more,” he licked his lips and blinked the sleep out of his eyes before he continued, really wishing he’d stopped for coffee on the way home, “I love everything about you. Literally everything. Even the annoying things,” Jaskier gave a watery smile and held out his hand, which Geralt eagerly took as he babbled on, “I love your voice in the morning and when you yell at me and when you sing in the shower. I love how passionate you are and how you’d do anything for the people you love. I love your ridiculously blue eyes,” he gave Jask’s hand a squeeze and took a moment to clear away the tightness in his throat and blink a couple times, “I love how strong you are. I love that you’re still open and gentle and sweet even after everything you’ve been through. I will grumble and complain but I really do love that you push me to be better,” he took a deep breath and tried his best to keep his voice steady but Jask was looking at him like he was the only thing that had ever mattered in the whole universe, “You are the best thing that’s ever happened to me and I can’t believe I almost booked my first tattoo with a scary looking guy smoking a cigarette in his profile picture. I am so so unbelievably lucky to have you and I want to do everything in my power to make you happy. Forever. But if you dont bite that wobbling lip I'm not going to make it through this.”
Jaskier laughed and wiped at his nose, biting his bottom lip.
Geralt cleared his throat again as he finally lost his battle with the tears, “Jaskier Pankratz, brilliant and ridiculous love of my life, will you marry me?”
He nodded and let out a strangled high pitched whine as he tugged Geralt up to his feet and clung to his shoulders. Geralt held him close and rested the hand not currently holding a banana on the back of his head as he cried into his shirt for a minute.
“Yes!” Jaskier gasped as he stood back to look at Geralt, almost choked really, with the way he was still crying with his whole body, “Yes, I’ll marry you! Figured I should actually say it.”
Geralt laughed and cupped his cheek with one hand, “Thank you, I was getting a little nervous.”
Jaskier gave a hysterical giggle before sealing their lips together in a salty, messy kiss, “What the fuck are we gonna do with all these bananas?”
Geralt kissed his nose and held his best banana up, “First we have to take a picture for Yen and Triss. Then banana bread?”
They spent the rest of the night making seven massive loaves of banana bread. Well, Geralt baked banana bread. Jaskier clung to him in any way he could and followed him around the kitchen.
When Geralt stood up from pulling the last loaf out of the oven Jaskier hugged him from behind, resting his head on his shoulder with his arms wrapped around his ribs, “Darling, since we’re getting mar-ried,” he put extra emphasis on ‘married’ and giggled, “you should know I really hate banana bread.”
Geralt snorted, dropping the tin foil roll as he laughed and leaned back into his fiancé.
“Hope that’s not a deal-breaker,” Jaskier giggled, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s cheek.
“I think we can work it out,” Geralt sighed, turning in Jaskier’s arms to kiss him again, only pulling away long enough to mutter a soft, “I love you,” before walking him backwards out of the kitchen and down the hall, lips still firmly and lovingly pressed together.
A little Ever After (1998) crossover because I am a SLUT for the Renaissance Aesthetic and also for Drew Barrymore and Dougray Scott’s performances.
This one’s for you, @221bsunsettowers and @thecomfortofoldstorries
tw: mentions of past abuse, forced servitude
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“Friends and honored guests, it gives us great pleasure, on this festive occasion, to not only honor Signore Vesemir...who seems to have disappeared; but also to tell you of a long-awaited decision,” the King began his announcement.
At the back of the party, gossamer wings spread wide behind his shoulders and sparkling blue eyes surrounded by rhinestones, Jaskier stood in terrified silence. This was the big moment. The one where he would bare his soul and his true status in life to Geralt. Hopefully his sweet, caring, introspective Prince would be able to accept him. To love him still, despite his position in life.
“Breathe,” he told himself quietly, “Just breathe.”
“It is my great privilege to announce the engagement of my son, Prince Geralt, to-”
But Geralt cut his Father off, stepping forward and away from the dais where the royal family had been standing. He rushed down the short staircase and across the red velvet carpet to where his darling Julian awaited, his hand outstretched and his breathing shallow. “My Father said you were getting married.”
“He was misinformed.”
“Then you are not engaged?” the Prince gasped, beaming. The servant in noble’s clothing shook his head and laughed wetly.
“No, I’m not.”
“I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life.”
Geralt had assumed that the watery-eyed smile Julian gave him in reply was one of happiness, or else he would have stopped right then and asked the younger man what was wrong. He would have saved them both the heartache of the following hour. The following week. The following month, even.
But the eager Prince was too absorbed in his own excitement; he didn’t stop to ask. He only saw his ethereal love, his Julian, wrapped in the white silk-and-velvet doublet. He saw the lace at the Viscount’s neck and wrists, so teasingly sweet, and the delicate pearl buttons that ran along his wrists and throat. He saw the matching white velvet breeches fastened below Jaskier’s knees, holding up a pair of fine silk stockings. On his beloved’s feet were a pair of embroidered blue-and-white dancing slippers in an old style; the style of Julian’s parents, probably.
“I’ve even invited the troubadours,” Geralt smiled, gesturing at the colorful troupe of guests off to one side.
“That’s lovely, Geralt, but I need to speak with you for a moment before anything else transpires.”
“Whatever it is, the answer is yes!”
“Wait-”
Geralt took the man he hoped to marry by one trembling hand and led him back up to the dais without letting him finish his sentence. Surely the Viscount was shaking with excitement. Surely the willowy brunette knew that Geralt intended to wed him and make him Consort. Didn’t he?
Yet when the handsome Prince looked down into the Viscount’s eyes he saw only raw terror and guilt building there. Like a terrible blue wave about to knock him off his feet. The horror hit full-bore when, a moment later, the Baroness Marx grabbed hold of Julian’s left wing and ripped it from his doublet, throwing the torn gossamer appendage to the ground and stomping on it with her expensive leather dancing shoes. Jaskier cringed; Vesemir would be heartbroken.
“Madame, contain yourself!” the Prince demanded. The Baroness wilted under his glare but only barely.
“He is an imposter, Your Highness. His name is Jaskier Pankratz and he has been a servant in my household for ten years!”
Everyone froze. Jaskier’s heart stopped beating entirely, he was sure.
“Julian,” Geralt swallowed thickly, his golden gaze turning to his one true love. “Tell them the truth. Tell them…”
“He is a devious, grasping little pretender and it is my duty to reveal his lies to you, Your Majesties,” the Baroness continued her speech, curtseying deeply, still standing atop Jaskier’s crushed wing. “I am sorry that he forced me to reveal it so publicly, but I couldn’t let you make so grievous a mistake, Your Highness.”
“Julian?” Geralt whispered. His voice was hoarse and low. Disappointed and tinged with anger. “Please?”
“It’s true,” Jaskier sniffed. A pair of twin tears made their way slowly down over his grimacing cheeks, dropping to the carpet below. “Julian de Lettenhove was my Father. I am what she says.”
“The apple,” Geralt realized. “That was you?”
“I can explain!”
The King interrupted with a growled, “Well someone had better.”
“First you’re engaged…” Geralt breathed carefully, still trying to control his boiling fury. “And now you’re a servant?”
“Geralt, please!”
A shocked gasp rippled through the crowd and the Prince’s posture tightened visibly. His body language changed entirely in the span of a second; he pulled away from Jaskier and straightened to his full height, squaring his shoulders and raising his chin to glare down the length of his nose. The younger man flinched back as if struck, the wing still attached to his doublet shuddered and shimmered in the air.
“Do not address me so informal, monsieur. I am the Prince of Kaedwen and you...you are just like them.”
Jaskier heard the impossibly loud crack of his heart shattering to pieces in his chest. He gasped sharply, feeling an ice-like stabbing sensation echo through his ribcage, and backed away from the dais slowly. His feet tangled with each other when he tried to turn around and he dropped to his hands and knees with a cry. Geralt jerked instinctively as if he was going to help him up but caught himself just in time, going still as stone.
His eyes were still narrowed and his nostrils flared with righteous fury. He couldn’t believe that Julian...that Jaskier would lie to him. The man who rescued him from troubadour bandits and spoken to him openly about philosophy and went swimming in his underclothes in the wilds of Kaedwen and debated life and love with a famous artist as easily as breathing…
The Prince watched as the thin brunette struggled back to his feet and took off at a sprint for the exit. His sobs echoed across the open-air dance floor and filled the torchlit space with the sound of pure anguish. The troubadours were looking on with open disgust written across their features. Just as Geralt was about to break down and go after Jul-Jaskier, the Baroness’s hand closed around his upper arm like the cold iron of a manacle.
“Such a sad day, Your Highness,” she sighed.
Geralt could only nod and wrench his arm away, turning and running in the opposite direction as quickly as his legs would take him. He needed a moment alone.
---
“He is your match, Geralt,” the artist argued. He gestured in the direction of the Baroness’s estate and glowered at the Prince, who sat crouched in the castle shadows, hiding from his Father’s wrath. “Do you have any idea what that boy went through to get here tonight?”
“He lied to me.”
“He came here to tell you the truth,” Vesemir snapped. Geralt looked up; he’d never heard the old man sound so angry before. His thick grey eyebrows were drawn together and his tone was thunderous and low as he spoke again, “He went through Hell to come here. He was beaten. He was whipped. He was locked in a root cellar by that horrible Marx woman and you fed him to the fucking wolves.”
“You walk on water and you make flying machines, yet you know nothing about real life,” the Prince replied. He suddenly remembered last week, when he’d tried to hug Jaskier and the boy had cried out. It wasn’t surprise; it was pain. Jaskier had been...he’d been in so much pain and Geralt had been waxing poetic about politics and love and...Jaskier had suffered to be with Geralt. And what the Prince done in return?
“I know that a life without love,” Vesemir sighed, placing Jaskier’s lost shoe in the Prince’s line of sight. “Is no life at all.”
The old man wandered away, whistling a familiar song as he went. It was the song Jaskier had composed for him in the woods that day, as they’d ridden back to the Marx estate with the rescued painting. Geralt shook his head to clear it; this wasn’t the time for reminiscing.
He had to pledge his heart to the Princess of Redania. He had to do what all Princes had to do: give up their dreams in the name of their country.
---
Geralt burst from the side of the church and ended up running directly into Jaskier’s step-sister, Margaret. “Where is he?”
“Who?” Margaret raised an eyebrow.
“Jaskier, where is he?” Geralt begged. Margaret shook her head sadly and filled the Prince in on everything that had happened over the past few days. At last the royal pulled away, his face twisted in guilt and pain, “Sold?”
“The Baroness didn’t want him around distracting you in case you came to propose to Valdo, Your Highness.”
“Speak of this to no one,” Geralt begged. “And you shall be greatly rewarded. Jaskier spoke kindly of you, Lady Margaret.”
“As well he spoke of you,” she replied. The affirmation of Jaskier’s seemingly endless trust in him only served to pierce Geralt’s heart further; he had betrayed the only man he’d ever loved. He really had fed him to the wolves. And the wolves had sold him to a fucking weasel.
---
Geralt rode up to Count DeStael’s manor and was shocked to find Jaskier already making his way through the garbage-scattered courtyard. He looked completely different than when Geralt had seen him last; or ever. The noble’s clothes were gone. The pearl-knit snood was absent. The velvet doublets and high leather boots were absent. The air of easy confidence that usually swirled around him was also gone. Making his way slowly across the dirty yard in only a tattered blue chemise and dirty brown trousers, a pair of cheap leather slippers laced around his feet and dirt smeared across his face, Jaskier looked incredibly small and fragile.
He somehow managed to shrink even further in on himself when he glanced up at last and set eyes on the Prince. “Hello,” Geralt greeted, swinging down off his horse to approach.
“Hello.”
There was a pregnant pause before Jaskier spoke again.
“What are you doing here?”
“I, uh, I came to rescue you,” the Prince admitted.
“Rescue me?” Jaskier scoffed, stepping past Geralt, “A commoner?”
“Actually I came to beg your forgiveness,” Geralt blurted. His heart leapt hopefully in his chest when the brunette man paused walking away. Slowly, Jaskier turned back to face him. “I offered you the world and at the first test of honor, I betrayed your trust. Please, Jaskier…”
“Say it again,” Jaskier demanded. Geralt could see that tears had sprung to his eyes. The blue of his irises somehow seemed darker, now.
“I’m sorry.”
“No,” the younger man shook his head emphatically. He smiled sadly and sighed, “The part where you said my name.”
Geralt huffed a laugh and stepped carefully forward. Jaskier had every right in the world to reject him right now. He could spit on the Prince’s face and run screaming into the woods and Geralt would want to follow with all his heart, but he wouldn’t. He would let Jaskier go if that was what the other man wanted. But the brunette didn’t move, so Geralt took another careful step. “Jaskier.”
Jaskier’s eyes closed and his chest lifted with the force of his gasped breath. He had never felt so alive before this moment. Hearing Geralt say his name, his real name, even if it was just this once, was heaven.
Even...even if it was just this once.
Jaskier slowly opened his eyes again and let them settle on the Prince’s face.
Geralt pulled his missing dancing slipper from the back pouch at his belt and held it out as if in offering, “I was actually wondering if you could help me find the owner of this rather remarkable shoe.”
“Where did you find that?” Jaskier asked, his hands fluttering out to touch the rhinestone-studded material of his Father’s antique dancing slipper. He thought it had been lost to him forever in his moment of foolishness, a constant reminder of all the loss he’d ever faced. And here it was, safe and sound with Geralt.
The Prince stepped forward until their chests were nearly touching and began to speak in a low, careful tone. Jaskier heard the love in every syllable, “He is my match in every way. Please tell me I have not lost him.”
“It belongs to a peasant, Your Highness,” the servant bit his lip and turned away, stepping over to the low stone wall and leaning heavily against it. He couldn’t support his own weight; he was going to swoon. “Who only pretended to be a nobleman to save another servant’s life.”
“I know,” Geralt smiled softly. He knelt before the commoner and Jaskier gasped, his hands flying to cover his mouth. He shook his head, disbelieving. “And the name’s Geralt, if you don’t mind.”
Jaskier leapt forward and slammed their lips together, kissing his beloved Geralt for all his foolish royal ass was worth. He threw his arms around the Prince’s strong neck and melted when Geralt’s arms encircled his waist in return. Neither man was sure which one of them was holding the other closest and neither wanted to let go. Eventually the Prince stepped away and knelt again. He had to do this right.
“I kneel before you today not as a Prince, but as a man in love.” He slid the cheap, poorly-made leather boot from Jaskier’s foot and replaced it with the bejeweled silk dancing slipper. “But I would feel like a King if you, Jaskier Pankratz, would be my Consort.”
Jaskier burst into happy tears. Real happy tears this time. Tears that ran in rivers down his pink, smiling cheeks and into the dirt below. Tears that Geralt wiped away with the pads of his thumbs, as reassuring and careful as any Prince had ever been when handling great treasure.
Jaskier was overwhelmed with the love in his heart. He wanted nothing more than to bury his face in Geralt’s broad, strong chest and never come out again. He would build a castle between his lover’s arms and find no need to leave. He would, if Geralt would let him, claim the Prince as his home forever.
Never unwanted.
Never a nuisance.
Never a pebble in anyone’s shoe.
He nodded and flung his arms around his Prince once again. Jaskier allowed himself to be swept off his feet and swung through the air. Geralt was kissing him the entire time, wherever the Prince’s lips could reach. His nose, his closed eyelids, his mouth, his cheeks, his forehead, even down his neck and in his hair. Jaskier laughed and laughed, the happy sound ringing through the dark courtyard of the Count DeStael’s grim-faced manor house.
“We, my love, are going to live happily ever after,” Geralt asserted.
